She drifted to sleep that night still feeling the ghost of his touch, and awoke in the morning trying to grasp the tendrils of dreams that left her yearning for more.
Reality reasserted itself when she faced herself in the mirror, brushing out her hair. There could be no repeat of last night, at least not with Alistair. She had less than two weeks before Nick would return. He wouldn’t intentionally rat her out, but Steven would undoubtedly press him for details about the night she’d spent on the Wind Dancer with Alistair.
She needed to have the snuffbox and be off working on her first solo assignment from Lord Q long before then.
After they ended their fake engagement, Alistair would be free to pursue whatever liaisons he felt so inclined. Plenty of women would be ecstatic to take her place in his arms.
As an independent woman, she could engage in similar discreet encounters with other men if she wanted, or perhaps even as part of her spy work.
She didn’t feel the thrill of anticipation at the prospect that she expected.
Perhaps she just needed a good meal.
She had just sat down to breakfast when the front door opened and closed. Moments later Steven swept in and kissed her on the cheek, his expression somber. That was not unusual in and of itself, but he also lingered to squeeze her shoulders and pat the top of her head.
“What was that for?” She wrinkled her nose. He looked and smelled even worse than yesterday. “Find anything useful or interesting at Toussaint’s?”
He sat down and ran his fingers through his hair, which was an improvement on its disheveled state. “Damnable business we’re in.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Is Gauthier all right?”
“Oh, he’s fine. Probably in better shape than I am, the old frog.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression still serious.
“Steven, do not keep me in suspense like this.”
“Sorry.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “We searched every inch of the town house last night. Found plenty that could make Toussaint swing at Tyburn, but no sign of the box we’re after, so we went down to have another go at the gaming hell. There was a fight in the alley.”
“And? There are lots of fights in the alleys in that neighborhood.”
He let out a gusty sigh. “A man was stabbed to death.”
She took a long drink of tea and said a quick prayer for the man’s family. “That’s terrible, but that sort of thing happens down there on a regular basis. Why is this one in particular bothering you?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes for a moment. “The victim, Kolenka, was identified by a man claiming to be his friend. We think Kolenka was one of the Darconian emissaries sent to retrieve the snuffbox.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath. “Do you think he’s the same man who broke into Toussaint’s study? That would be too coincidental to simply be a coincidence.”
“You mean him being killed so near Toussaint’s establishment, just two nights after breaking into Toussaint’s study? No, I don’t believe it’s a coincidence, either.” Steven leaned forward and clasped Charlotte’s forearm, his blue-gray eyes intent. “How well did you see the intruder the other night? Do you think you’d be able to recognize him?”
“You mean, would I recognize his corpse?” She tightened her lips and tried to be logical about the matter.
Once she’d reached the balcony that night, she had taken a moment to rub her stinging hands after climbing the rough brick wall. She’d barely had time to register that there was a strange man in the room before the door to the study had been flung open. The only light was cast by the burning coals in the fireplace, but she’d been in the dark for the previous half hour or more, and her eyes had adjusted as well as they could.
“I only caught the briefest glimpse when Toussaint came in and the intruder turned toward me, before I leaned over the balcony to shout a warning to Alistair. Everything blurred a bit after that.” She took a shaky breath. “But, yes, I think I may have seen enough to be able to identify him.”
“That’s my girl.” Steven patted her arm.
Within the hour she was following her brother and Gauthier down a dismal hallway in a nondescript building in the City that housed the coroner’s office. With no carpets or other furnishings to muffle the sounds, their footsteps rang out on the tiled floor and bounced off the walls. The walls might have been painted white at some point, but they were now a dingy, sooty gray.
She refused to allow the gloomy surroundings to affect her emotions. What she was about to do was part of the job. An unpleasant part, an occasion she hoped was rare, but something she had to be able to handle. Steven and Gauthier had always shielded her from some of the more gritty aspects of their work. This was her chance to prove her sensibilities weren’t the least bit delicate.
She pulled her gloves on tighter, glad she’d worn cotton instead of kidskin, as the fabric was better at absorbing the sweat from her palms.
The clerk leading the way opened an unmarked door, one among dozens they’d passed, and gestured them inside.
Charlotte took a fortifying breath, straightened her posture, and crossed the threshold.
Weak sunlight filtered in through the high windows, revealing several long, narrow tables, all but one of which was empty. A workbench beneath the window was cluttered with an array of jars whose contents she couldn’t identify and tools that looked like they belonged in a torture chamber.
Aware that her brother and Gauthier were watching her every move and flicker of expression, Charlotte determined she would show no emotion. After all, she’d seen countless dead bodies before. An entire field strewn with dead soldiers of several nationalities, the aftermath of a battle they’d failed to prevent. Blood and mud had clung to her skirts in equal amounts. She hadn’t cast up her accounts then. She wouldn’t do so now.
The clerk pulled back the sheet covering the body, revealing Kolenka’s face and shoulders, his greasy black hair.
Charlotte’s heart stopped, then started again at double its usual pace.
There was a world of difference between seeing dozens of anonymous bodies and viewing up close the corpse of one man whose name she knew.
Her feet felt rooted to the spot. Her breakfast threatened to reappear.
Soldiers going into battle were trained to fight, were fully aware that they might die before the day was out.
Had Kolenka known yesterday that he might die? Was he aware that his life was in danger? Had he even realized he’d engaged in battle?
“Well, poppet? Is this the same man who was in Toussaint’s study?”
Charlotte forced air into her lungs and out again. She considered sitting down and putting her head between her knees, but refused to give in to the light-headedness. A few more deep breaths and she’d be fine. Even if the air in here was tainted with odors she didn’t want to think about. “Can…can you roll him onto his side? I saw him from a different angle than this.”
The clerk and Gauthier worked together to do as she asked, while Steven slung one arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She half expected him to rub his knuckles against her skull. The flash of memory from their shared childhood helped steady her.
She shrugged off her brother’s arm, moved over to get a better angle, and tilted her head. For a moment she squeezed her eyes closed, to compare this sight against the mental picture from two nights ago, then opened them to take another long look. “You can let him go now.”
Gauthier and the clerk let go, and the body rolled back onto the table with a dull thud.
One more thing, just to make certain. She leaned closer and took a tentative sniff of Kolenka’s coat, averting her eyes from his blood-soaked chest. Her heart sank as the now familiar sharp odor of tobacco assaulted her senses. It was unlike any British blend of tobacco she’d previously encountered, far different from the cheroots Sir Nigel tended to favor. “Yes. That’s him.” She stepped back, toward the door. “Kolenka is the same man Toussaint caught breaki
ng into his study.”
“Merde,” Gauthier muttered.
“Bloody hell,” Steven echoed.
The clerk drew the sheet over the body, and the four living souls filed out into the hall.
“What now?” Charlotte concentrated on keeping her hands perfectly still at her sides, kept forcing air in and out of her lungs, and tried not to think about Kolenka. Had he left behind a wife and children? Or a mother? Sister?
“We have to make a report to Lord Q.”
“Vraiment.”
Charlotte looked up. “We’re going to see him, at his office?” Though they’d made many reports to Lord Q over the years, she’d never actually seen him. Steven had always left her behind if there was a chance to deliver his report in person.
Steven shook his head. “We still can’t risk being seen with him in the City. But an old friend of the family can certainly pay a call on us at home without drawing any attention. That was the other part of the message that arrived this morning—to expect him.”
The ride home in the carriage seemed to take considerably longer than the ride to the City just an hour before. Aunt Hermione’s town coach was better sprung than most hackneys, and the velvet squabs thickly padded, but having to sit back on the bench was less than comfortable, even after all of the poultices. Squirming only made it worse.
She stared out the window, searching for a tree, birds, flowers—anything living to replace the image of death that seemed etched into her mind.
She tried to analyze the situation dispassionately, the way she knew Lord Q would. Toussaint had identified the man breaking into his study, and either had him killed or killed him personally. He had personally wielded the knife that almost claimed Steven’s life, and had escaped unscathed.
As a weeping girl of seventeen, Charlotte had been no threat to him.
Now, she was a woman of twenty, with a decade’s worth of experience and training crammed into the intervening three years. She would wrest the snuffbox from Toussaint, see the letter restored to its rightful owner, avert the scandal that threatened to shake the foundations of the government, and prevent Toussaint from killing again.
Once home, the three adjourned to the drawing room. Steven retrieved parchment and ink from the desk, while Gauthier sharpened a quill pen, and Charlotte gazed out the window, watching children playing tag in the square’s park, overflowing with trees and shrubs and chirping birds.
They went through the report carefully, each contributing the details they were most familiar with. Charlotte leaned over Gauthier’s shoulder to read the final draft, and noted the embellishments their scribe had added. “Mon ami, you should write novels.”
“But I already do, ma petite. You do not think this is my only secret life?” He winked at her.
They all looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.
Farnham entered and bowed. “A gentleman to see you, sir. He declined to give me his card.” His intonation remained perfectly polite, but when he straightened from his bow, his nose was just a few degrees higher than usual.
Charlotte couldn’t help a small smile. Since they were so unaccustomed to having servants available, perhaps they should have insisted Aunt Hermione engage the services of someone a little less highly recommended.
“Show him in,” Steven said. “And please send up refreshments.”
“Very good, sir.” He clicked his heels and left.
“That poor man,” Charlotte said. “I hate to think of all the times we have failed to live up to his expectations.”
Her stomach fluttered with nervousness at finally meeting Lord Q. Perhaps she should have gone upstairs and freshened up when they returned home. But surely a man like Lord Q would be more concerned with actions and results than neatly combed hair? She tried not to think about the fact that her whole future could depend on the next few minutes.
Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall and there was a bit of shuffling as the guest preceded the butler into the room.
Lord Q was much shorter than she expected. In fact, she and he could probably see eye-to-eye, a detail that she hoped boded well for her future. He looked the grandfatherly sort, with deep lines on his cherubic face that showed he smiled often. His white hair poked up in tufts, contrasting with his pink cheeks. She almost expected him to offer her a sweet.
Many men must have been caught off guard over the years, underestimating him.
He handed his hat and walking stick to the butler and said, “That will be all.”
Farnham looked at Steven for confirmation before he bowed and left.
Lord Q glanced at Steven and Gauthier, then strode directly toward Charlotte, his hand held out. “You must be Charlie. I have been dying to meet you, my dear.”
Chapter 16
Charlotte remained frozen for a moment, then curtsied and shook Lord Q’s proffered hand. His grip was firm. Unlike most men she’d ever shaken hands with, he did not treat her as a delicate creature. Her estimation of him rose a notch.
She made sure her own grip was equally firm and confident in return. “To be honest, my lord, I wasn’t even certain you were aware of my existence.”
Steven made a small choking sound in the back of his throat.
Lord Q gave Steven a tsk tsk, and patted her on the shoulder. “The safety of our operatives is always our top concern.” Still with his hand on her shoulder, he led her to the sofa and gestured for her to be seated. “We list in our reports only the names that are absolutely essential, but be assured we have long been aware of your contributions.”
She couldn’t be rude, so she perched on the edge of the sofa as gracefully as she could. She wished she knew him well enough to know if he was using we in the royal we sense, or referring to his associates at the Home Office.
With his compliment, she couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I’m so happy to hear that, my lord. That is precisely what I wish to discuss with you—my ongoing contributions.”
“The end of them, you mean,” Steven said from his chair by the desk.
By force of will, Charlotte resisted the urge to shoot her brother a dirty look.
“Your fiancé, he was none too happy the other night, I’m thinking.” Gauthier had assumed his usual position by the fireplace, where he could keep an eye on both the door and window.
“You are engaged, my dear? My felicitations.” Lord Q patted her knee. “I must admit I’m disappointed to lose an agent with such promise so soon, but it is to be expected. Young women such as yourself tend not to remain in the field for long.”
Charlotte wanted to grind her teeth. This was not going at all according to plan. She glanced between her dear brother, whom she currently wanted to strangle, and dear Gauthier, who had been like an uncle. Regardless of their expectations for her future, she wanted to work for Lord Q. “Thank you, but felicitations are not called for. I am not truly engaged.”
Lord Q’s brows knitted. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“What the hell do you mean, you’re not engaged?”
“Mon dieu!”
Charlotte ignored the outbursts and kept her attention focused on Lord Q, who thankfully maintained the attitude of polite interest in whatever she had to say. Some of the trepidation about revealing her plans evaporated. “Steven has changed since we came to London, and for some reason expects me to forget all about what I’ve been doing for the last five years. I, however, have no intention of giving up the work. My so-called engagement is simply a cover that has enabled me to continue my efforts to recover the snuffbox.”
Lord Q did not seem taken aback by this astounding revelation. “And your fiancé is aware of your activities? Aware that your relationship is a sham?”
That made it sound…sordid. There was nothing dishonorable in what they’d done. “Alistair was only too happy to enter into our subterfuge, and has benefited just as much as I have.”
“But you spent the night with him!”
“He was there when
you broke into the cochon’s study.”
She pressed her hands flat against her skirts to keep from balling them into fists. Lord Q was also ignoring the interruption, his attention still patiently focused on her. Bless him.
“I took Alistair into my confidence early on in our acquaintance. He has shown himself to be a worthy partner. He is also a school chum of the captain of the Wind Dancer, where we sought refuge for the night.”
She noted the flare of understanding in Q’s eyes, and felt a surge of confidence. “He is well-suited to our work, my lord. He is fast on his feet, both mentally and physically, and most importantly has no wish to dissuade me from completing this task.” She spared a glare for Steven. “Unlike others in this room.”
Q nodded. “It goes without saying, you find him trustworthy.”
She’d certainly trusted Alistair last night, when he’d held her in his hands. His magnificent, talented hands…She turned the direction of her thoughts before they betrayed her with a blush. “He is a gentleman who can play the rogue when needed.”
Q nodded gravely. “I do prefer that my operatives work in pairs when possible, or threes, as you all have done so successfully over the years. Pairs tend to be more productive, have fewer casualties. The cover of a false betrothal, however, cannot be maintained indefinitely.”
A maid knocked and entered just then, and deposited the tea tray on the table in front of Charlotte. After she left, several minutes were taken up by the ritual of passing the plate of cakes and making sure that everyone had a cup of tea to their liking.
Her mood was boosted by the fact that Lord Q had not dismissed her intentions out of hand. She need only decide what to do when her engagement with Alistair ended, as it must inevitably.
She paused, the teacup halfway to her mouth. End her engagement to Alistair.
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